I remember reading some of this series in college (I was a psychology major) and loving it, though I can't remember specific thoughts or feelings about the characters or plotlines. Upon re-reading it recently, while I still like it, I think I had it on a pedestal of sorts, probably for love of psychology as a subject and mysteries as a genre.
This time around, I didn't like Alan and I found Lauren intolerable. I'll start with Lauren. The only coherent and sensible thing she said in this book is when she told Alan he wasn't "as divorced as [she] is." The fact that Alan has to ask what she means by that adds to my frustration with HIS character - the obvious answer is that she's ACTUALLY divorced in every sense of the word, while he and his wife are merely separated. Um...duh, Alan? The rest of her dialogue is mostly her bragging about herself in some manner, insulting Alan as a person for what appears to be warranted only because he cares about her (she's ripe for psychoanalysis but to Alan's credit, he's not pedantic enough to cross that boundary because he likes her as a person and as a woman, not as a potential client), and basically admitting she knows she pushes men away but that's their problem, not hers, because "men are unreliable" or "not to be trusted" or something like that. I can't remember her exact line, but for someone as smart as she thinks she is, and for someone whose boss is (by her admission) an excellent example of how that generalization is unfair, she sticks to it and basically sets up Alan to be slapped in the face with her true feelings about the male sex. She gave him every opportunity for him to fail her tests, and when he didn't, she pushed him away anyway. Then said she wanted to see other people but "let's still be friends," then gets mad at him when he has a problem being just a friend right off the bat, when her finally sleeping with him was a clue that they were growing closer together, and acted like hale shouldn't have been completely caught off guard by her quick retreat. The cherry on top: Alan passes all her tests, confronts her on her BS (NOT abandoning her for her MS as she was so ready for him to do, after he showed he was at least willing to stick around while he thought about it instead of just immediately bolting), and she dismisses everything he says while opting to trust a stranger who, incidentally, she brought on the same trip she took Alan on in her pattern of seduction and tests. When Alan tells her he didn't move with his wife, she automatically makes the assumption that he deemed his career more important than his wife's (obviously due to previous relationship baggage, which, despite my feelings about Alan, is not fair to him), which is rich considering she dismisses his career and expertise the entire book. Her self-righteousness and finger-pointing just caused unnecessary drama and got in the way of her doing her job (which she's sooooo good at, just ask her). She thinks Alan has evidence with the blue bandana that may link to a crime, but because of her ambivalent, personal feelings about him won't allow him to bring it to her, and then neglects to follow through on her promise to have someone come get it from him; instead he has to bring it to Sam Purdy and deal with him in vagueries which only makes the case drag out more.
Alan. If he hadn't spent the whole book feeling so sorry about himself (much more than he seemed to feel sorry for any of his victims who died), he would have cottoned onto things a lot sooner. And he became so reliant on the privileged information and confidentiality aspect of his job that he let it cloud his judgment on things not related to therapy. Why not call the police and report the windshield? Why not call the police and report the billiard ball through his home window? Just because he suspects it's Michael doesn't mean when he reports it he has to divulge anything about their therapy sessions to the police taking the report. At the very least, he'd be documenting a pattern of threatening behavior that could later be tied back to Michael (hint: fingerprints on the objects maybe linked to the fingerprints on the glasses at one of the victim's homes). If the police suspected a stalker due to the patterns of behavior, they could have been following Alan and therefore spotted Michael a long time before the billiard ball incident without Alan ever having breathed his name to the authorities. For all he knew, the turtle and the billiard ball had Michael's prints all over them. Instead? He cleans up all the glass in both situations and makes it like neither incident ever happened (as far as the law is concerned). And doesn't feel threatened by the POSSIBILITY that someone could have shaved his dog's neck, brought her back home (so obviously knows where he lives), and left a calling card (the blue bandana), not the story that he comes up with where she ran off, a crazy person shaved her neck, and then a neighbor happened to recognize her and being her home (but not say anything?). Alan seems completely unable to connect obvious dots the whole book, dismissing clue after clue, but somehow manages to solve an extremely complex puzzle at the end. I agreed with other reviews that this was a slow plotline, with many unnecessary details that seemed built in just to make the book longer or drag out the suspense.
I also agree with another review that the dog's death was unnecessary. It didn't enrich the story in any way, and the way it spurned Alan to finally get serious about Michael despite it having absolutely nothing to do with Michael just made him seem reckless and irrational.
Like other reviews, this is the first novel of the series and there were kinks to be worked through, I'm sure. So that, with my memories of having really liked the series previously, I'll continue to read it, and hope that Lauren's revelations at the end of book one make her likeable, or at least tolerable, in future installments, and that Alan becomes more able to see things less emotionally and take a more clinical, unbiased perspective at circumstances like he would in his practice.